


They Set the Path Ablaze

by Franticfoxtrot



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Conflict of Interests, F/M, First Meetings, Northern Pride, Pretty much how I see this going down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-10 11:49:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12911328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Franticfoxtrot/pseuds/Franticfoxtrot
Summary: This is my taken on what will happen next season. It is going to be all the different arrivals and departures of Winterfell. Starting out with Jon and Dany's and moving on to Jamie's. I'm super bad at summaries so just peek in.





	1. Chapter 1

Winterfell bustled with increased expectancy. The King of the North returned which had the courtyard buzzing with activity. Lady Sansa oversaw preparations. Gracefully descending stone steps from the Lord's Chambers. They had not prepped these quarters for any quests. It was the only room in all of Winterfell that she couldn't bring herself to change. Aside from fresh flowers that still clutched to growth and new bed linens, Sansa couldn't imagine a Targaryen holding great affection for these particular accommodations. Chambermaids cleansed it of Bolton stain and Sansa had seen to putting her mother's touch back into it. 

She would give up her parent's bed to a foreigner. Despite Arya's baiting and goading, she knew what was expected of her. The whole of the North would bubble with their discontent but for now, while the political climate was unknown, they could swallow pride. Few knew that Jon had bent the knee and Sansa had purposefully not publicized this information. Many Lords would still cling to their freshly won independence. Perhaps some would even act alone whilst the Jon's and the Dragon Queen's parties were en route. 

She wouldn't risk any vigilante acts of terror. They needed to be safely behind Winterfell's walls before any discussion of the upcoming war and sovereignty came to the table. In these early moments, she focused on the large list of tasks looming over the castle with the possibility of Dragons, Dothraki, and Unsullied approaching. A raven had foretold many aspects of the Dragon Queen’s arrival but did little to ease the growing tangle of nerves in Sansa’s stomach. Ser Davos had written the message, in cramped and sloppy letters, detailing their journey, expected time of arrival, and what to prepare for. What irritated the Lady of Winterfell the most was the disconnected demeanor he had been exhibiting away from home.

Bran and Arya endured her worried musing over how they were to feed all these mouths when they barely had enough for those in Winterfell. They supped together, the three of them huddled close. Bran at the center, a voice of ominous mysteries. Arya, less impulsive and perhaps even less reckless than her younger self, still had passion buried under blank mask. She despised the notion of the North serving a Targaryen again. If a dragon set Cersei Lannister ablaze first, than a dragon would have to be added onto that murderous list she recited on occasion. 

Sansa was the reasonable sibling. She tried to understand every angle and keep her wits in tact. While Bran's jaw remained locked and eyes far away whenever Jon was discussed, Sansa and Arya tried to theorize why he had bent the knee. Were they so desperate for an army? Hadn't they been mining dragonglass? At first she had believed it was because Jon was a prisoner on Dragonstone but now? Now, with Jon’s bending the knee, nothing was certain. Standing, head held high, Sansa awaited the arrival of King Jon and this fair-haired foreign invader. She had to muffle these thoughts as a rider approached through the gates and declared the royal party's near arrival. 

Bran was sent for, as he typically resided under the Godswood with furs bunched around lap. Arya silently appeared, keeping stride with Sansa's long legs. She had began to grow accustomed to Arya melting into and out of shadows. Winterfell's household assembled into courtyard, facing its main enterance. With Bran and Arya were at each side, Sansa felt mildly at ease. Arya in trousers and the stance of a military man. Bran in his wheeled chair, eyes somewhere else. The Starks of Winterfell, the rightful rulers in the North.

Brienne of Tarth had returned promptly with her squire, Podrick Payne. They were not far from Lady Sansa either. Arya, even though she was scarce to admit it, had taken quite the liking to the warrior woman. It seemed that Brienne, vows or not, also had grown affectionate to the young woman. They spared and learned from another with Podrick lumbering around in mute envy. Bran had not resumed his former childhood friendships nor had he been considerably Bran-like since he returned. He was much changed. This Three-Eyed Raven persona was odd and yet Sansa never questioned him or the strange words he spoke. Some rang true and impossible to know. This scared the woman sometimes. 

They were a motely group of outcasts and survivors, Sansa felt she could take on whatever beast landed at castle gate. While she didn't have the mystical link of Bran or Arya's skilled sword hand, the world had not been kind to her either. Of all her remaining siblings, Sansa had survived by learning to use her wits and playing the game. Some of the best players had taught her many painful lessons and even if she had been slow to catch on, even as a child, she learned.

Their cries came first. Long, deep and sounding of hallowed deaths…faint but growing in sound. They all heard the legendary dragons before seeing them become specks in the distance. It was a show of grandeur. A bigger spectacle than when King Robert and the royal family came riding to Winterfell all those years ago. And that visit had only ended in tears and death. 

Gulping, Sansa slipped her hands into pockets hiding in the seams of heavy fur cloak. They shook, betraying the fear she felt, but this woman would not see Sansa waiver. This was for the North. To save the people, to keep them strong and hopeful, the common folk needed her to play the part. 

Jon rode past the gates first on his black warhorse, the very same accompanying creature who had loyally taken him away. Moments like these, he reminded her most of father. Two equally honorable and brooding men, and at this moment both who made stupid mistakes. A Targaryen was coming to Winterfell. What that meant to the North, Sansa couldn’t be sure.

It was Jon who believed dragon glass and this fair-haired foreign invader's dragons were the key to defeating the Night King and his growing army of the Others. These were threats equal in nature to Sansa and only one certainly approached with haste.

But she couldn’t waiver. As Lady of Winterfell, there was a part to play. If not for herself, for the common folk. For the North, as a Stark it was her instilled duty. Her family had watched over these lands for generations. Jon Stark. Theon Stark. Bran the Builder. So many, and only one had knelt before an invading Targaryen, Torrhen Stark.

Dragons had swayed their ancestor, as perhaps it had Jon. Lady Sansa wouldn’t bend so easily. This is what she told herself, head held high against winter’s cruel winds. She watched Jon dismount, handing reigns to stable master. He appeared deep in thought. Not at all uncommon of his nature, yet a wave of ease washed over those Stark features as he glanced around.

He was home. With the gray walls they had played behind and those equally as gray direwolf banners that invoked pride. Ghost trotted over, nose sniffing but tail swishing back and forth with excitement. Jon scratched at his ears, "Hey boy." Ghost had been a welcomed addition. A direwolf that each of the Stark children found to be an honored addition to the family. 

Jon's attention turned to Arya and Bran at either side, Jon’s face couldn’t contain joy. He seemed almost unsure who to approach first. Years had passed since they had all left these cherished rooms and he had missed both their returns to them. 

“It’s been awhile,” Arya stepped forward, offering him a break from emotion. Oh, what he doesn’t know yet. Little Arya, the troublemaker who preferred trousers was now a young woman with an assassin’s stealth and nimbleness. Deadly, their sister kept a murderous list in her head of all those she would one day kill. 

Jon smiles, and Sansa thinks there are almost tears. “It has,” he rushes forward and swoops the small, wisp of a girl into his arms. Their reunion is so much like hers and Jon’s. He holds Arya to himself and strokes hair with gloved hand. “I’ve missed you,” Jon says at last. Sansa looks on, but a twinge of something resonates deeply in chest. He doesn't let go even when he sets Arya back on her feet. They look each other up and down before Jon tussles her hair. 

More horses crowd into the bailey. Hooves crunching snow, whinnying as riders dismount and they are lead away to be fed, watered, and rubbed down by stable hands. Of the new faces, Sansa recognized many as men of Winterfell. Others however, were unfamiliar.

A young, burly man with black hair and a war hammer at his side was such a face. Arya however, having been released from Jon’s embrace, is sparked with wonderment. “Gendry?” she asks as Jon lowers her to ground. Jon turns with amusement to see her rush towards the man and sticks a hand out. 

“Jon,” Bran interjects, wheeling himself a little closer, “She was not what you expected was she?” It’s a puzzling statement. Clearly, Jon is more than a little taken aback. “We must talk soon,” Bran finishes before he turns and has a servant take him to the Godswood. Of all the Starks, Sansa thinks it is Bran who is the most changed. He is a young man with the eyes of a wise old man. Even in heavy brown furs, surrounded by direwolf sigils, the mischievously spirited boy is long gone. Jon looks a little taken aback, as Sansa had.

“Welcome home,” Sansa greets dutifully, curtsying. 

Jon nods, “It’s good to be back.” He looks as if to say something more but is interrupted by strange roars in the distance. The entirety of Winterfell falls silent aside from newly returned. Sansa stills. 

“I told her it was unwise. But they are like her children,” Jon lays a hand on Sansa’s shoulder. Composing herself, Sansa looked deep into those gray eyes and stated simply, “Those are not children, Jon.”

Once more and louder, the cries echo out. Now the courtyard begins to shift uneasily. The kennel master sprints off as the new hounds begin to howl and growl. Horses in the distance whinny and a stable boy is almost crushed as a the mare he leads away rears. Father always said that the animals could feel what we could not. 

Sansa and Jon joined Arya and her acquaintance. Belatedly, she notices another unexpected face. That of the Hound’s. She hadn’t seen those scars since the Battle of Blackwater. His eyes lock on hers but there is little to say. Two black specks appear from above.

Sansa reminds herself who she is and prepares to face the Dragon Queen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for the support! I am still new to AO3 and even to tumblr (where you guys can find me under franticfoxtrot as well!). Going back, I noticed I totally slipped between past and present tenses so will be editing that. As for this round, hopefully, I get it right! Again, thanks for the praise everyone. 
> 
> Also, super sorry for how it might drag a little. I'm writing this so that my boyfriend can read it and understand mildly what is going on even though he doesn't watch the show or read the books? He wanted to read it...
> 
> Oh and if anyone is interesting in beta-ing let me know. I could use advice from someone who has been around the fanfiction community longer than I.

The arrival of two dragons has the populace unsettled. Such massive creatures, Sansa observed in mixed horror and awe, their wings spanning several wagons. One was green with bronze highlights, its wings a contrasting orange and red. The other, larger, was black and red. When had the world become so complicated? Wasn't it already difficult enough with man-made hardship that the Gods would spit out every beast of legend unto Winterfell's gates? She felt that her father's death and their venture south had sparked episodic misfortunes. A series of tragedy that even the reunion of Jon, Sansa, Bran, and Arya couldn't end. A curse upon Winterfell, Sansa almost believed it but they wouldn't fall. Not now. Not ever. Giving in was unacceptable. So unlike the Starks.

And here they were in the wake of a new chapter. Many falter, gasps and shrieks rise up over the near deafening beats of enormous wings. Horses rear and cry out as predators circle ahead. Sansa inhales sharply, wondering if this was their end. A reassuring pressure on her forearm has keeps the woman planted instead of backing away. She isn't sure of this display of power. Hordes of Dothraki warriors and a slave army of Unsullied also accompanied these dragons. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. These were only stories, exotic and fearsome stories that the nobility whispered about in curiosity. So different were these foreigners from Westerosi knights, that she wondered how they operated. Eddard Stark had failed to teach his girl children these aspects of the military. She knew nothing of formations or weaponry, but what she did understand was that armies needed to be fed, quartered, and clothed in order to march and fight. 

Perhaps what worried Sansa the most, over the danger of once extinct dragons and fairy tale Wight Walkers, was the prospect that even if they were to all survive...would they instead slowly starve to death. So many questions bubbled under smooth mask. Yet, she dreaded the answers. This war Jon claimed was upon them, supported by Bran's elusive remarks, loomed over head. Creatures of cold death coming not to just steal their babies in the middle of the long winter but to exterminate the living. Such a threat needed the help of a Targaryen conqueror and the dragonglass her ancestral castle resided over. Yes, doom seemed to permeate from every orifice in Winterfell. Nobody but Jon and Bran seemed to be the only ones who didn't doubt the approaching danger. Every other soul in the North, they were riddled with doubt. Sansa was of the reluctant even with trust in Jon's word. 

"Shhh," a mother tried to sooth a terrified infant. Sansa glanced back at the Northerners, an aura of unease and terror was obvious. Some pulled collars higher and scarves tighter as if to hide it. Other openly appeared mortified. They were were the many reasons that the next wave of formalities went by with some confusion. Petyr had indeed been correct, the Dragon Queen was beautiful. She had gone unnoticed on the back of a dragon until the beast lowered itself and she slide from it. Bundled in furs, Sansa could hardly make out her face. Violet eyes and pale blonde hair were there, marks of Valarian and Targaryen beauty. A heated mar in her chest flared. 

A woman who had arrived very shortly before the Dragon Queen stepped forward. With dark skin and delightfully curly hair, she looked every bit out of place. A slight accent thinly veiled the clatter of teeth. Sansa found the woman, whom she presumed to be the royal Herald or Hand, rather rigid. Not rigid as a Southerner would think of a Northerner. "You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful queen of the Andals and the First Men, protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains." 

Arya shifted, shoes loudly crunching in the snow as they waited for an end. The sisters exchanged knowing glances. It was a long introduction, longer than King Robert’s or Joffery’s. Possibly even Cersei’s now that she had taken the throne. It was odd, Sansa thought. If Cersei Lannister, likely the proudest woman in the Red Keep if not the Seven Realms, was outdone by propensity in names…Who had Jon brought to Winterfell? Daenerys approached, head high and hands folded. She was not meek. Didn’t bow or give due respects. Ser Davos cleared his throat, stepping to the forefront. 

“You are standing in front of the Stark family. Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell,” his eyes glanced around at Arya and others. New faces, only mentioned in letters. Where Davos stumbled, Sansa picked up. “Arya Stark, and Bran Stark returned to the Godswood, we are all children of the late Lord Eddard Stark,” she did not bow as she had for the Baratheons and trying to make a positive impression. Voice clear and every bit as commanding as her Lady Mother Catelyn Stark. Arya stepped forward, hands behind her back. Sansa wished now that Bran hadn’t retired early. No matter where, she was certain that it was disrespectful for a young lordling not to greet honored guests. He had not been the same since his return. A weathered young man who had taken akin to a wiseman. Even more knowledgeable than a maester, he seemed reluctant to meet with so many at once. Large groups weren’t his specialty. 

Jon was next to speak, “This is my family.” His voice was soft, his hand clasping Arya on the shoulder. Daenerys nodded her acknowledgment. She had the voice of a Queen as well Sansa discovered, “The Starks of Winterfell pledged their allegiance to my family before our time. I hope that loyalty can be fostered again.” Jon cleared his throat, hand gripping Arya’s shoulder tighter as her mouth opened. Their grandfather and uncle had been burned alive by her father, King Aerys II. Aunt Lyanna had been abducted by her brother Rhaegal. Her father and Robert Baratheon had fought an entire war to win her back. Robert’s Rebellion had ended Targaryen reign and now the Lannister’s were ruling family by default. 

Sansa, the more poised sister, held her commentary at bay. In the face of two dragons, wit seemed useless. “I’m sure with time our two families will once again find a mutual alliance,” Sansa said, she waved her hand and a chambermaid appeared. “You must be tired. Quarters prepared for you. If you follow me, I’ll show you the way,” 

The crowd was beginning to scatter, duties never done. Still, every eye was on the Dragon Queen’s horde. The Dothraki and Unsullied, whom Arya and Sansa had watched approach from the battlements, remained outside the walls while Daenerys and her closest advisers and servants were to house inside Winterfell. She hoped that all those men had adequate housing and clothing. If they were to help fight the army of undead, they needed to be prepared for Winter. Old Nan had said that when the White Walkers came that breath turned to ice and skin froze and shattered. No Summer Children had felt a cold like that. Old Nan wasn’t with them any longer, so no one but Bran was around to scare the stockings off Sansa. 

The Lady of Winterfell moved swiftly, dark cloak dragging across snow. Daenerys followed suit with the curly haired woman close behind. Lorna, her favorite and most trusted servant, strayed behind. “That’s Lorna,” Sansa informed abruptly, “Her mother was raised here at Winterfell and she was here for a time as well. She is a fresh face once again but still remembers these halls like her name. If you should want for anything, just call for Lorna. She will assist any of your own handmaidens. I will also be available if she can’t accommodate you,” Sansa certainly hoped that she wouldn’t. There were still so many preparations. A dinner, because the guest right required breaking of bread, figuring out if her forces were properly attended to as well as the Northern population as well. 

“I won’t be needing her services beyond pointing where everything is,” Sansa was slightly disappointed but only nodded in response. Lorna would also serve as her eyes and ears as well. A shame if her connection was stunted so early. The Dragon Queen continued, “I will have dinner in my rooms tonight. It has been a long journey and I am tired.” Sansa stopped, turning to look fully at the woman. A beauty indeed, high cheek bones and slim figure. A regal appearance, with fierce eyes to match. Where Sansa’s were often filled with neutrality until provoked, this woman had a fire that raged just beneath surface. 

“We have already made arrangements for tonight. We also need to take inventory on your army to know what we are dealing with. What supplies were brought? Are you shipping from Dragonstone to support your men?” Sansa felt almost incredulous, pressed to know what exactly they were dealing with. Daenerys merely raised an eyebrow at Sansa. Despite her best efforts to sound courteous, a nerve was struck. 

Suspiciously, Daenerys stepped forward and looked Sansa up and down for the first time. Perhaps Sansa had crossed a line. It was still early in this foundling alliance. Now they were taking tally of everything? She understood the measuring but wanted to scream deep down inside. For weeks they had been preparing for a Targaryen army. Even without them, Winterfell was already in a precarious position, stretched thin on resources. They had received the first shipment of dragonglass on a week prior and began fashioning spear and arrow heads. A mote was in the works, the men laboring from sun up to sun down with generous meals in between. The sooner that their efforts and forces were combined, the happier Sansa would be. 

But she needed to play it smarter than this. She couldn’t let this woman know how desperate the North was. “Perhaps tomorrow then,” she smiled and gestured down the hall to follow. Daenerys only frowned and ended their conversation with, “Perhaps Lorna can show me the way since she knows it better than her own name. Good night.”

Sansa waited until they were out of sight before letting out a deep sigh. There was always a familiar imp whom had strangely appeared with the foreign invader. While Varys was also included in this number, Tyrion held a certain esteem in Sansa’s heart. He had always been kind to her while every other Lannister were either indifferent or cruel. If he had gotten close to her, perhaps she could learn more. 

“Maester Wolken,” Sansa called out to the hooded, heavily chained man as she returned to the courtyard. 

“Yes, Lady Sansa,” he stopped and turned as she approached. “Please send a request to Tyrion Lannister to join me in my father’s study,” she needed to crunch numbers and review the day. Hopefully, the man she had known was still as he was. Perhaps a little more detached from family but with a head for administrating. If any could aid, it would be him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for their support! I'm still very new to fanfiction realm even though I've been reading it for YEARS! This chapter is based around the interesting relationship between Tyrion and Sansa. Next chapter will be some Jonsa, I promise!

Time had not faded the scar across Tyrion Lannister's face. He was still very much a lover of wine but perhaps less prone to humor as she remembered. They stood in silence, her father's study a supervisory entity. Roose Bolton had attempted to erase the Stark name and presence but the North and their family endured on in everything. Sansa settled into a seat as Tyrion remained on his feet, arms clasped behind back. Of all the nobility of King's Landing, few had shown kindness to the Stark prisoner of war. A sham wedding had united the Lannisters to the North on a political playing field but Sansa had always seen his hands bound by familial duty, something deeper that not long ago she realized resided in her. His heart of empathy couldn't outweigh her ties to blood. Yet, here Lord Tyrion was, a traitor to his own. The Hand of a Queen to a Targaryen conqueror had crossed the Narrow Sea after killing his father and effectively dishonoring himself. Cersei cursed her little brother's name with a vengeance and craved his traitor head on a spike on the Red Keep's walls. Much like how she desires Sansa's. His disloyalty, Sansa mildly understood. While he had never confided in her as a lover, Tyrion had shown that he lacked the cruelty of his kinfolk. Of Joffery. Cersei. Tywin. It would be easy to settle the South with Tyrion. Perhaps soothe tensions...for a time. But now, they had a common enemy. 

Sansa cleared her throat, reaching for a decanter of wine and pouring two goblets. The North was not known for their fine wines. Arbor white gold or Dornish reds she had only tasted in the South. Tyrion never seemed to complain about alcohol, and he reached for his appreciatively. "Ah, yes. It's certainly a change. Not addressing you as my lady wife," he finally broke the silence. Tyrion took a hearty gulp before raising himself onto a cushioned seat across from Sansa. 

"I much prefer Lady of Winterfell now," 

A silent gaze of assessment filled Tyrion's gaze. 

"I had hoped you would make it home safely," Tyrion watched her face face, eyes flickering off to the side, "However, it might have come about." The man seemed to comprehend there was another saga of Sansa Stark's journey he did not yet know. He wisely didn't press for information. "The common folk seem to respect you. At least the snippets of conversation I could pick up from these tight-lipped Northerners," Sansa smiled slightly, eyes returning to Tyrion's scarred face. Shifting, a hand smoothed over skirt as she sipped on much too dry red wine. 

"The North fell into the hands of the Boltons. It was only through Jon's invasion of Winterfell and the Vale's assistance that we took back our home," a pause resonates, "We lost many and are still rebuilding."

Ramsey's face still haunted these halls at times. The wickedness of a smile meant for the unspeakable she had all but ordered washed out of stones and wood. If she showed any discomfort, she masked it well. Tyrion nodded, eyes thoughtful.

"I have heard some rumors," he started slowly, "One piece was that Sansa Stark married Roose Bolton. Though another contradicted that with his very fat wife being pregnant." 

"It was to his bastard son," She loathed that word now. Bastard. Yet, when she thought of Ramsey, she couldn't associate him with a nobleman. Not after the things she had witnessed....the things he did to her. Sansa felt herself growing rigid, her face become like smooth stone. "I suppose it took my father's own bastard to restore the Stark name." 

"And now he is King in the North," Tyrion added tactfully. 

"Yes," Sansa sipped and rose to her feet, "And rightfully so. Our Father's bannermen unanimously declared it." Even if he didn't crave power or prominence, Jon had gained momentum against the coming Winter he feared even more than a war-hungry newly self-anointed Queen in the south. 

But...he had stumbled upon another whom she had only heard in passing. A breaker of chains to slaves and the mother of dragons, a Messiah for the smallfolk across the Narrow Sea...a foreigner and last reminder of the Mad King's legacy. 

"As the Lady of Winterfell, you remind me of your mother. And she had no love for Jon Snow," Tyrion was always apt to point out what he saw, sometimes at his own detriment. Sansa instantly recognized the assessment he was pointing to. 

She laughed slightly, "Do I think he has the mind to navigate administration? No. What he does have is our father's mentality for justice and honor. For war. And we need someone who inspires the masses. Someone like Jon." The fire crackled as they fell into an easy silence. This was a man who had seen her develop a mask in Red Keep. It was only by these unfortunate connection that he could tell Sansa wasn't being dishonest. Passion flickered like the flames that danced around study.

"I never envisioned a Lannister serving a Targaryen,"

Sansa continued. There was a reason why she had summoned him here. This newcomer, she had already set back the festivities and left Lady Stark at a loss of information. Many of the servants were keeping their ears open, ready to deliver any piece of useful tidbits they could discover. They put the foreign queen's retinue to quarters and soldiers assisted her troops out beyond the village. The villagers were granted refuge in the walls if they desired but even Winterfell couldn't hold them all if they all feared death to Dothraki and Unsullied warriors. 

"She has a vision and Jon seems to see it likewise," Tyrion replied simply, finishing his wine. "I beg your pardon, but I am quite exhausted."

"I'll have a man see you back to your rooms," Sansa replied kindly. 

Tyrion bowed with some jest, "No escort needed, mi'lady. It is convenient that my quarters are exactly the same as the last time I visited Winterfell. Good night, Sansa." 

The door opened and closed behind him, and Sansa fell against a table with a deep breath. Nothing was gained. Nerves were bound tightly until her hands were shaking. Only alone could she let worries trouble her. So much planning and so much more to go. Tyrion was not her enemy however. He wouldn't see her burn by dragon's breath. Or, at least she hoped.


End file.
